Now that Q is in school and we are having the occasional illness inducing playdate*, we’ve begun the car seat shuffle. Even though some of Q’s friends could actually sit in R’s car seat, they don’t want to look like a baby. So we take out the car seat and put in the extra booster and have to reinstall the car seat again the next morning. What I wouldn’t give for a third row!

It’s got me thinking that we will need to upgrade to a minivan soon.

I’ve been resistant, oh so resistant.

Maybe because I don’t have a car payment and buying a minivan will mean a loan.

Partly because a little piece of me will die. It’s like that last vestige of youth. Buying a minivan means you are no longer young and unencumbered.

Not that I want to be unencumbered; I love my family.

The gray hairs? Yeah, I could do without those.

Maybe I need a Swagger Wagon.

My Mad Cupcake Skills

*We’ve gotten strep and impetigo from playdates and been exposed to mumps.

(Visit the Toyota Sienna Swagger Wagon YouTube channel for more funny videos. At least I think they’re funny. But what do I know, I’m old and encumbered.)

Tongue-in-Cheek Disclosure: Toyota did not ask me to blog about their Swagger Wagon, but if they’d like to set me up in a Sienna to help with the playdate carseat shuffle and make our 200-miles EACH WAY drive to the endocrinologist a little more comfortable, they know how to reach me.

Deciding what to write about today was no easy feat. I went back and forth. Back and forth.

Do I show you photos of our new kitchen table that arrived this week after waiting two months? It’s the first piece of real non-hand-me-down furniture that my husband and I have purchased together. We selected the style of table, chairs, and bar stools. We brought home stain samples and debated whether to match the cabinets or the wood floors. We patiently waited for Amish craftsmen to build it with their hands. (Not kidding.)

Or do I write about something that I am so proud of and have been wanting to tell someone, but that’s a little gross and no one but me and maybe my immediate family will appreciate?

After a quick poll on Twitter, I am proud to announce that today’s topic is…

Wait for it…

Wait for it…

Burping.

That’s right. Burping.

Bet you didn’t see that coming. (Unless of course you were on Twitter last night at about 10:00 pm Central Standard Time.*)

So here’s the deal. I can’t burp. Rather, I couldn’t burp. Isn’t that the strangest thing you’ve ever heard?

I had a tormented childhood. Everyone could burp but me and no one seemed to be able to teach me.

I had a tormented young adulthood. Instead of being able to burp, gas sat in my stomach, trapped with no place to go. Seriously people. It was painful. Doctor after doctor had no advice to give other than buying stock in Gas X (simethicone was my friend).

My family teased me and often gave me gag gifts: mugs that burped when set on the table, toys that burped when squeezed.

It wasn’t until I became pregnant with Q while in my thirties that I could burp. During the pregnancy, I am not sure why, but I sometimes let out small burps.

But after the pregnancy, I returned to my no-burping self. Too bad I didn’t return to my pre-pregnancy weight!

And then I got pregnant with R. And something magical happened. You know how when you are pregnant ligaments and all sorts of other things loosen up (I’m not going there!). Well maybe my esophagus or some other body part between my stomach and throat loosened and I suddenly could let out loud, bawdy belches that would make even Homer proud.

I figured this new found release would be short lived. But no, in the three plus years since R was born I have been able to rip loud belches, though still not on command.

The interesting thing is that it rarely happens at inopportune moments. Usually it’s in the car on the way to school drop off or work. And let me tell you that I hate burping my breakfast Cheerios. Tastes strangely the same coming up as going down.